


Out Among the Stars

by seascribble



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bounty Hunting, Feeding, First Words, Gen, Translation Available, parenting, space infant development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22472401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seascribble/pseuds/seascribble
Summary: It is a thought too immense and terrifying be allowed to take shape in his conscious mind, but there is nothing Din would not sacrifice for the child’s safety and happiness.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 257





	Out Among the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Среди звёзд](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158747) by [Kattank123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kattank123/pseuds/Kattank123)



> Thanks to KB for talking me through ideas and Inlovewithnight for the encouragement to post.

Din is used to making sacrifices. His life has been full of them, from the time before he swore the creed and every day since. This is the Way, and Din has never regretted it. For the child, he sacrificed his livelihood. His reputation. A significant amount of sleep. It is a thought too immense and terrifying be allowed to take shape in his conscious mind, but there is nothing Din would not sacrifice for the child’s safety and happiness. 

That goes a long way towards explaining why he is up to his knees in bantha shit on this soggy godforsaken backwater, dancing attendance on a small-time despot with outsize assassination fears. The Razor Crest needs fuel, the rations need stocking, the child needs an ever-growing list of essential supplies. 

Thinking of the child's needs, Din recalls dimly the tiny room he had called his own in the house where he was born, clay walls with a single colourful tapestry hung over the narrow bed. More clearly, he recalls the barracks room shared with the other foundlings, their rows of trundle beds, childish art depicting great battles adorning the walls, toys and weapons and armour tucked away into their designated places. In both, there was the knowledge that he was safe, that he was cherished, that he was _home_. Din will do everything in his power to ensure that the child has that same knowledge.

Even wade through bantha shit in search of an assassin who almost certainly doesn't exist, on the order of a man who almost certainly deserves assassination. The credits are good, and that's all that matters. Din thinks of the kid, waiting on the 'Crest in his little hidden compartment, with food and toys to keep him occupied until Din's return. He needs the credits for the kid. 

That's the thought that keeps him on the job, through the realization that there's a lot more bantha shit where the rest came from, and that the assassination threat is very real and extremely deserved. But it isn't Din's job to arbitrate justice in this parsec or any other. His job is to get paid and get out. The foundling is counting on him. 

Din has handled his share of assassins over the years; this one barely deserves the title, though she does have some raw talent with a tech-staff. She lands a blow behind Din’s knee, knocking him on his ass in the mud and forcing him to deploy his grappling hook to knock her off her feet. The mud is slowing them both down, but Din has enough of the advantage to pin her, pulling her head back to keep her from drowning in the muck, vibroblade to her throat. 

“I’m gonna cuff you,” he says. “And if you cooperate, we can both get cleaned up before I hand you over.” No chance of using the ‘fresher in the client’s mansion, but he’d passed a relatively clear running stream a few klicks back. It’ll do.

The would-be assassin just glowers at him. She’s got dignity, he’ll give her that. 

It’s short work, dunking her in the stream til the worst of the mud is washed away, then doing the same for himself. He’s in a hurry now, operating on a timetable that supersedes the one dictated by the job. 

Din’s dislike of the client grows considerably when the bounty is handed over. 

"Why she's barely more than a foal," he scoffs. The Thakwaash assassin's ears turn back against her head at the insult. "Surely not worth five thousand credits."

"We have a contract," Din says. He doesn't move towards his blaster. Not yet.

"A contract negotiated on the capture of a deadly assassin," the client says. "Not a child with a stick." 

Din shrugs and reaches for the release spring on the cuffs. "Then I guess we should find out how deadly she is." 

"No! No, you've made your point, Mandalorian. Five thousand, then, though it's blatant robbery." 

If he has anything else to say, Din doesn't hear it, already striding out of the mansion and towards the shops in town. He's running out of time. 

The shopkeeper is packing up when Din hurries down the street, but pauses when he rattles his credit-purse in her direction. He has more errands to run, but this one is the most important. Too important to waste time haggling over; Din pays the asking price without hesitation and tucks the parcel under his arm, all but sprinting back to the Razor Crest. 

It's been nearly a full standard rotation by the time he finally makes it back. He knows something's wrong as soon as the hatch opens. There’s a thin wail coming from the sleeping compartment where he’d left the child, and Din’s heart aches thinking about how long the kid might have been crying for him. He barely pauses to re-seal the entry hatch against the planet’s cold night air before bolting for the compartment. 

He registers the upper cabinets where the child’s plasma-paints were stored hanging open and the colourful smears along the walls, floor, and bed, but none of that matters. The paint-streaked baby blinking big tearful eyes at him is all that’s important. 

“I’m sorry, _ad’ika_ ,” Din says, kneeling down to scoop the child against his breastplate. “I was gone too long, wasn’t I? Missed dinner and bedtime both.” The kid sniffles and clutches at one of his fingers with both hands. Din pulls off the glove to curl his fingers around the kid’s sharp little claws. 

"Buhhhh," the kid says and Din nods solemnly. 

"I know. I'll do better, I promise." He presses the curve of his helmet gently to the baby's forehead and is rewarded with a stream of coos and gurgles. Forgiven. "Dinner and then bed, sound good?"

Heating up the ration packs has to be done one-handed, because the kid shrieks and digs his claws into Din's hand any time he moves to put him down. Once, Din might have been annoyed by it, but not tonight. He sits on the floor with the child in his lap, spoon feeding him carefully cooled bites of rehydrated meat and veg bricks. 

Lately, the little one has developed a more active interest in the spoon, not so much in using it to feel himself, but in grabbing it and trying to remove the helmet to feed Din or banging it against his breastplate. Din indulges him, pushing the helmet back til it's balanced on his forehead and the kid can flail the spoon in the general direction of his mouth. Din makes appropriate noises of enjoyment before reclaiming the spoon. The kid squeaks in protest, but it's cut short by Din shovelling in another mouthful of veg. 

By the time the bowl is empty, the kid's eyes are getting heavy. Din figures that it won't do him any harm to wait until tomorrow to wash off the paint. He cleans the kid's mouthful of sharp little teeth and bundles him into his blankets. 

"Brought you something back from town," he says softly, tucking the kid into the compartment in his little make-shift cradle. The baby blinks and smacks his lips, already half asleep while Din tears the paper off the parcel abandoned by the entry hatch. "Here, look." He pulls out the little silver holo mobile and switches it on, making stars dance across the ceiling of the compartment. "What are those, _ad'ika_?"

The kid's eyes blink open slowly, and he lets out a happy gurgle. "Ta!" He reaches tiny claws up towards the slowly-spinning holos. "Ta!"

"That's right. Stars. These stars are just for you, while you sleep." 

"Ta," the kid says happily and cuddles down into his blanket. 

Din sits down by the cradle, watching the kid watch the stars as he drifts off to sleep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Out Among the Stars [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22809955) by [blackglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackglass/pseuds/blackglass)




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